


Prison Break

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [43]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Athos Whump, Dragon Riders, Gen, Hurt Athos | Comte de la Fère, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: A massive prison break from the Chatelet throws Paris into chaos.
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know several people have waited a long time for some Athos whump, so here you go in spades. XD

D'Artagnan trailed his wife through the marketplace, the basket slung over Constance's arm still empty as they perused the stalls. Produce pickings were slim. There hadn't been any imports from Gascony in a while with so much of that land ravaged by the war. D'Artagnan missed the taste of a sweet, juicy orange from his homeland. The last time he'd had one was when their regiment had been on the march last summer and he'd plucked one off a wild tree growing along the road.

"Looks like we'll be having turnip soup again," Constance commented as she roved her eye over the vegetables for sale.

D'Artagnan tried not to grimace. He'd hated rations in the field, but he was developing an equal distaste for the soups back home now as well. Times were certainly tough no matter where they were.

Constance apparently didn't like any of the current selection either and turned around to scan the rest of the market. Her face lit up and she immediately crossed the square, though not because she'd spotted any special find over there.

"Theresa!" she called.

D'Artagnan followed on her heels as Constance approached a woman standing by a stand selling collard greens. The woman hadn't turned at the sound of her name, though her head was canted oddly.

"Constance," she said with a smile, holding out a hand but still not looking at them.

Constance took it and squeezed. "I'm so glad I ran into you. I want you to meet my husband, d'Artagnan." She beckoned over her shoulder at him. "D'Artagnan, this is my friend Theresa."

"Hello," he greeted.

"Last I heard he was on the front," Theresa said. "Are you just visiting or have you a ghastly wound that has sent you home for good?"

"He's been recalled to increase the Dauphin's protection," Constance explained.

"Ah, how fortunate," Theresa replied with a coy smile.

She still wasn't looking either of them in the eye, and d'Artagnan finally jolted with the realization that she was blind.

"We met a year ago," Constance told him. "And periodically favor the same time of day for shopping. Though I haven't been out as much in a while," she added apologetically.

"You are a very busy woman," Theresa said. She then canted her head back toward the produce stand. "I'll take four stalks, please."

The merchant gathered up the collards and tied them together with a string, then reached out to grasp Theresa's wrist and guide her hand to the bundle, which she accepted and placed in her own basket hanging on one arm. She had a walking stick in her other hand, or, d'Artagnan supposed it was more than just that.

"Are you out here alone?" he asked in concern.

Theresa drew her shoulders back. "I have been going out on market day for thirty years, young man, and I have been blind for longer than that."

D'Artagnan's face flushed hotly. "I'm sorry," he stammered. "I didn't mean any offense."

"Hm," Theresa hummed. "I hope you're handsome, as that can cover a multitude of shortcomings."

"Oh, he is," Constance said, shooting him a pointed look.

D'Artagnan's mouth moved soundlessly, as he didn't quite know how to respond to that without digging himself into a deeper hole. So he decided to wisely remain silent.

Constance smirked at him and turned back to Theresa. "How are you doing? How's your husband?"

"I am well enough. And my husband is elated because he just found some work."

"That's wonderful," Constance responded.

They all knew work was difficult to come by for many people currently.

"What does your husband do?" d'Artagnan asked.

"He's a locksmith. He actually used to do some work for the Louvre, but there has been little need for that there."

He nodded in understanding before remembering she couldn't see it. But then his own attention was drawn across the square to an archway where he spotted some city guards cornering a man and woman. Suspecting they were once again up to no good, d'Artagnan quietly excused himself from Constance and Theresa and strode toward the developing confrontation.

"Please," the peasant man was begging. "We have nothing. We lost our home, our livelihood."

"And yet you still owe taxes," one of the city guardsmen replied unsympathetically as he snatched the man's small traveling sack away from him and began to rifle through it.

"I distinctly remember the King giving orders to stop accosting refugees," d'Artagnan interjected.

The city guards shot vitriolic glares at him.

"The King also gave orders for taxes to be collected in a timely manner," one of them retorted.

"Are you a tax collector now?" D'Artagnan cocked a simpering look at him. "Couldn't quite cut it as a city guardsman, huh? So your friend here is your bodyguard?"

The guard snarled and threw the peasant's bag on the ground so he could draw his sword. D'Artagnan whipped his out in response, and the two clashed with a discordant clang that resounded through the square. People scurried out of the way as they shifted to more open ground. D'Artagnan made sure to drive his opponent back away from the peasants so they could retrieve their bag and flee during the commotion. He didn't hold back in his heavy-handed swings, though he also made sure not to go for any debilitating strikes, even though he really wanted to. These city guards were scum and deserved a good thrashing.

The duel didn't last long, as a larger group of city guards came swarming into the market, swords drawn, and d'Artagnan quickly found himself surrounded.

"Surrender!" someone yelled at him.

He scowled and lowered his blade a fraction. "He drew first; I was simply defending myself."

"You are under arrest," the guardsman declared.

Several men surged forward and d'Artagnan's blade was wrested from his grip and his arms wrenched behind his back.

"I told you, he drew first! Ask any of these witnesses!" D'Artagnan jerked his chin around at the crowd.

The city guards ignored him though, not that d'Artagnan thought anyone might come to his defense after all—he noticed how many citizens swiftly ducked their gazes when he'd called them out. Constance was the only one who looked livid and ready to do something, but d'Artagnan caught her eye and gave a subtle head shake to not get involved. He didn't want her getting unjustly arrested too, which was exactly what this was.

Her jaw ticked, but she turned and ran off, probably to alert the others. D'Artagnan gritted his teeth as he was hauled away.

He was roughly manhandled through the streets to the City Guard garrison and finally brought to a halt in the courtyard as Captain Lahaye came to see what was going on.

Lahaye roved a disparaging gaze up and down d'Artagnan. "You know," he said, "you Musketeers make a fuss about our conduct, but it seems you're the ones constantly getting into trouble." He turned to his men. "What's the charge?"

"Illegal dueling with a city guard."

"He drew first!" d'Artagnan spat.

"Yet you engaged," Lahaye replied. "The law is clear."

"I don't see you arresting the other man," d'Artagnan seethed.

Lahaye arched a brow at the guards holding d'Artagnan.

"I can't recall who it was, sir."

"Hm, unfortunate. I'll have to make an announcement to the entire regiment, then, discouraging this behavior. Take him to the Chatelet."

D'Artagnan struggled as he was yanked backwards. "You—"

He didn't get to finish as a dragon barked overhead and Savron came swooping down to land in the courtyard. Athos swung down from his back and marched toward them.

"I understand there was an altercation between our men," he said more calmly than the stormy look in his eyes belied.

Lahaye pulled his shoulders back. "Your musketeer accosted a city guard in a duel."

"For the last time, he drew first!"

"I did hear from a witness that your man drew first and initiated the fight," Athos replied.

"Where is this witness?" Lahaye asked.

"Where is the other guard?"

A muscle in Lahaye's cheek ticked.

Athos turned to d'Artagnan. "What was the disagreement about?"

D'Artagnan shot a scathing look at Lahaye. "Your men were shaking down refugees for taxes. I merely stepped in to make sure things didn't get out of hand, and your man drew first."

"You musketeers have no business interfering," Lahaye retorted.

"I wasn't aware tax collecting fell under City Guard purview," Athos put in, meeting Lahaye's eye in silent challenge.

"There's a lot of things the Musketeers don't understand."

"I'm sure the King will be able to clear it up."

The two of them stared at each other for several long moments, the tension practically crackling the air between them.

Lahaye finally broke first and gestured to his men, who loosened their grips on d'Artagnan's arms. He shrugged them off and moved to stand next to Athos.

"I warn you," the captain of the City Guard started, but he was interrupted by a guardsman hurrying into the garrison.

"Captain! There's been a prison break at the Chatelet!"

Lahaye's eyes widened for a split second before they hardened again. "How many?"

"Over twenty. We're not sure. They broke through the gate and are in the city," the man reported breathlessly.

Lahaye started snapping out orders to dispatch his men.

"The Musketeers will help," Athos said.

"Fine," Lahaye bit out and strode away.

Athos turned to d'Artagnan. "Get back to the garrison and alert the others. Savron, with me."

D'Artagnan nodded and jogged out of the yard, free to pass now with this new crisis taking the City Guard's attention. He headed north toward the Musketeer garrison while Athos and Savron went south toward the Chatelet.

.o.0.o.

Athos was blocks from the Chatelet when he came across a handful of city guards brawling with a group of escaped prisoners. A few of the escapees had weapons, while others were snatching up anything within sight that could be used as a bludgeoning instrument. And still others were scattering down multiple alleyways in an attempt to flee. Athos veered toward one street a group of four had gone down. One of them was lagging behind, his body frail and weak after who knew how long in the bowels of the prison. Athos caught up to him easily and with a deft punch to the back of his shoulder blades, sent him sprawling to the ground. He didn't get up, so Athos left him there for the guards to find and continued on after the other three.

Savron soared overhead and banked left at the next street, letting Athos know which way they had gone. But when Athos came around the corner, there was no sign of them. He whipped his gaze up and down the street, then up at his dragon for cues as to where they'd disappeared to.

Savron was circling the area in as tight a pattern as he could. The escaped prisoners must have gone inside one of the buildings.

Athos scanned the structures in an effort to determine which one. No one was screaming, so either no one was home or the prisoners had entered an uninhabited building. He finally spotted a side gate hanging open and figured that was his best course. Crossing the street, Athos drew his sword and crept cautiously into the side yard. A door to the house was open as well, looking as though it had been forced open, given the paint scrapings and flecks on the jamb. Athos glanced inside, but the hallway was clear. He paused to crane his head back and search for Savron, yet his dragon was still circling the area. The escaped prisoners had to still be nearby.

Athos ventured into the quiet house. The hall was empty and devoid of furniture, perhaps an abandoned property after all. He listened as he stepped carefully across the floor. A thud sounded from above.

Glancing up and down the hall, he quickened his pace until he found a set of stairs heading up to the next level. He poked his head around the corner of the landing but didn't see anyone. And then a figure darted out from a side room and toward the other end of the hall.

"Stop!" Athos shouted, drawing his pistol with his other hand.

The man didn't, and Athos fired. The ball struck the wall, splintering chunks of plaster as the man darted away. Athos sprinted down the length of the hall and swept around the corner. The man had vanished. Athos was just about to continue after him when the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He spun just as a brutish figure leaped out of a shadowed alcove and slammed into him with the full force of a battering ram. Athos had no chance to catch himself as he was propelled backward—right through a window in a crash of breaking glass. For a brief moment, he was in free fall, arms flailing with sword and spent pistol still in hand.

Then he hit a cart full of crates below, smashing through the wood with bone shattering force and landing in a broken heap beneath splinters of wood. Breath-stealing pain exploded throughout his entire body, throwing every muscle into shock. His lungs seized and his chest jerked in a spasm that failed to draw in air. With one last sputtering attempt, he saw Savron's blurred shape circling above and heard a screech before blackness claimed him.


	2. Chapter 2

The strident screech of steel pealed throughout the streets as Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan dueled with a handful of prisoners who'd managed to get their hands on some blades. Unlike some of the other escapees whose lengthy time in the Chatelet had reduced them to waifish husks, a few of these prisoners were only recently incarcerated and still had the strength to put up a good fight.

Aramis parried every blow directed at him and riposted with enough force to drive his opponent backward until the man bumped into a brazier and tripped over it. Aramis swiftly moved in to kick his sword away and leveled his own blade at the man's throat, warning him it was over. The prisoner dropped his head back against the ground in resignation.

Aramis glanced over his shoulder at Porthos and d'Artagnan, who were just disarming their opponents as well. That was three more escapees rounded up. With the fight over, the musketeers hauled their reclaimed prisoners to their feet and shoved them toward a troop of city guards that had just arrived.

"How many more are unaccounted for?" Aramis asked.

"Don't know yet," one of the guardsmen replied gruffly as he took custody of the prisoners and started back toward the Chatelet.

"How could this have happened?" d'Artagnan said. "It's like the entire prison was suddenly thrown open for them all to just walk out."

"It is suspicious," Aramis agreed. "Though I can't imagine what anyone would have to gain from it."

"I'd say it makes fer a good distraction," Porthos put in. "Everyone's busy runnin' around after escaped prisoners."

D'Artagnan's brow furrowed. "Do you think the King or Dauphin could be in danger?"

Aramis shook his head. "Ayelet and Rhaego are on guard duty at the palace. Nothing would get past them."

D'Artagnan didn't look convinced. "Still, maybe we better send Savron and Vrita there, just until we have finished rounding up everyone who escaped."

It couldn't hurt. Speaking of the blue silverback, wasn't he out here with Athos responding to the alarm? Aramis hadn't seen either of them.

A high-pitched shriek rent the air, and they all whirled in search of its direction. The throaty cries continued, urgent and panicked in a way that sent a thrill of fear up Aramis's spine. Something was wrong.

The three of them scanned the sky but there was no sign of a dragon.

"This way," Porthos said, turning to jog up a side street.

Aramis and d'Artagnan hurried after him, the dragon's screeches getting louder as they homed in on its location.

"Savron?" d'Artagnan yelled.

A dragon rose partially into the air, just enough for them to catch sight of him thwacking his wings urgently. Then he descended again, and the musketeers rounded the next corner and spotted him perched on a rooftop. Savron shrieked at them and swung his head down toward a side alley. Aramis bolted into a run, Porthos and d'Artagnan hot on his heels.

They spotted broken pieces of wood first and then barreled into the alley where they found a wagon practically snapped in half, splintered wood and glittering shards of glass all around it. And a pair of legs lying half draped over a slanted plank.

Aramis's heart leaped into his throat as he recognized those boots, and he spurred forward, vaulting over the broken pieces to get at the body lying in the very center of the rubble.

"Athos!" d'Artagnan yelled, hurrying around the other side.

Aramis climbed into the wreckage, slipping when loose boards shifted beneath him. Athos's eyes were closed and his limbs askew. A few pieces of wood looked too thin to be from the wagon, and Aramis flicked a quick glance up to where he spotted a broken window on the second floor. Good God…

He yanked his glove off with his teeth and pressed trembling fingers to Athos's jaw. The pulse that throbbed against them made him sag in relief.

"Is he…?" Porthos asked tensely.

"Alive. Find a litter, now. We need to get him back to the garrison."

Porthos hesitated for a split second before slapping d'Artagnan's shoulder to indicate they should go. Aramis roved his gaze up and down his brother's body, trying to determine where to start.

Savron belted out a worried keen from above.

"He's alive," Aramis called up to him. "Keep a lookout." The person or persons behind this could still be nearby, but Aramis wasn't going to spend energy being on guard for them, not with Athos like this.

Aramis removed his other glove and stuffed both of them into his belt, then began gently but methodically palpating Athos's limbs in search of breaks. His legs and arms were miraculously intact. Aramis worked around the weapons belt, worried about a fracture to one of the core structures. Thankfully, Athos had apparently been holding his sword and pistol when he'd gone out the window, so he hadn't landed on them. Aramis didn't think his hip was broken, but when he reached the ribs, he definitely felt something.

A sputtering cough suddenly burst from Athos's lips, triggering a series of them.

"Easy, easy." Aramis captured Athos's face in his hands, trying to keep him from moving too much.

Athos flailed one of his arms about and shifted a leg, only to cry out in pain.

"Lie still," Aramis urged, ducking his head to catch his brother's wildly roving gaze.

Athos's eyes finally lolled toward him as another cough hitched in his chest.

"Don't speak," Aramis ordered. "Look at me and blink once for yes, twice for no. Does it hurt to breathe?"

Athos closed his eyes and opened them again.

" _Can_ you breathe?"

Athos's chest fluttered as he seemed to test it out, his face scrunching up in agony. But he forced his eyes open wide and blinked again.

"Okay," Aramis said. "That's good." He carefully prodded the ribs again, trying to gauge how badly displaced they were and whether moving Athos would risk puncturing something internally.

Athos bit back a moan and rolled his head to the side.

"I know, I'm sorry," Aramis soothed. "I don't think they're broken. Cracked at least." He started tossing away broken pieces of wood to clear a path for when Porthos and d'Artagnan returned with that litter.

"F-fell," Athos wheezed out.

"Yes. Do you remember what happened?"

"Chased—" He broke off with a cough.

"You were chasing some escaped prisoners."

Athos tried to nod, only to freeze and bite back another groan.

"Try not to move," Aramis repeated. "It's pretty clear what happened. One of them threw you out a window."

"Where—"

"We'll worry about them later," Aramis cut him off. He heard harried footsteps and twisted to see Porthos and d'Artagnan jogging up with a stretcher. "Lay it there," Aramis instructed, intent on moving Athos as little as possible. But they couldn't avoid this initial move to disentangle him from the wreckage.

"Athos?" d'Artagnan called worriedly.

Aramis climbed over the rubble, nudging d'Artagnan out of the way. "I'm going to brace his head. Porthos, take his shoulders. D'Artagnan, his legs. Be as _gentle_ as possible."

They got into position, Porthos and d'Artagnan shooting Aramis looks of trepidation as they readied themselves.

"On three," Aramis said. He counted out, and together they lifted Athos up. Their captain couldn't hold back a pained cry, but Aramis was relieved there weren't any hidden pools of blood beneath him. He'd been very lucky. Though he probably wasn't feeling so.

The three of them carefully carried Athos the few feet away from the rubble and laid him on the litter. His eyes were squeezed shut and his breaths were wheezing out shallowly again, so Aramis did another quick check of his ribs to make sure they hadn't shifted too much.

"Alright," he said, satisfied. "Let's get him back to the garrison." He waved a hand up at Savron to signal they were going.

The trek through the streets was most certainly unpleasant for Athos, the jostling from their urgent pace unavoidable. But the sooner they got him back to the infirmary, the quicker Aramis could fully tend to his injuries.

The Musketeer infirmary, unfortunately, was woefully depleted of its usual resources. Aramis scanned the empty shelves in dismay and shook his head as he turned to his patient once Porthos and d'Artagnan had transferred him to a bed. Athos had an arm pressed tightly against his chest, which Aramis gently pulled away so he wouldn't inadvertently injure himself further.

"The- prisoners," he said haltingly.

"Let the City Guard handle the rest of them," Porthos huffed.

Athos managed to shoot him an austere look.

"Go," Aramis encouraged. He knew Athos wouldn't want an audience for this anyway.

Porthos and d'Artagnan exchanged hesitant looks before backing away and heading for the door.

"Find Constance first and ask if she has any bruise balm or can get some," Aramis called after them.

D'Artagnan nodded in acknowledgment and slipped out the door.

Aramis turned back to Athos, knowing this next task was not going to be an easy one. "Let's get that coat off and take a look at the damage."

Athos started to push himself up, and Aramis quickly took hold of one arm and his shoulder to help brace him. He then wordlessly helped Athos slough off his coat and draped it over the next bed over. Bracing himself for what he was sure would be a mess, Aramis grasped the ends of the billowy shirt and rolled it up. Sure enough, an array of red and purple splotches all across Athos's back heralded what would be a blossoming display of deeper bruising later. Aramis carefully felt around the shoulder blades and back of the rib cage to make sure nothing had broken or cracked in the fall.

Athos stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath but otherwise tried to remain stoic. "I'll live," he gritted out.

"You will," Aramis agreed. "But I'll bind those ribs to be safe."

He moved away to search the cabinets for bandages, finding them in the third place he looked. There was also an old, half empty tin of bruise balm on the shelf, the lid practically glued shut with dried unguent.

Aramis returned with the items and set to rubbing what little salve was there into the worst of the bruising before he'd wrap the ribs. "We should see to restocking some items in here."

Athos didn't say anything, too busy holding himself rigid against Aramis's ministrations. Aramis tried to be quick but thorough. Athos was pale and shaky by the time he'd gotten the ribs wrapped.

"I didn't realize how sparse the supplies in here were," Aramis said apologetically. "None of the things I'd typically prescribe for pain are here."

"Wine has been in short supply as well," Athos said, voice low and tight as he struggled to breathe through his nose.

Aramis grabbed the pillows off three beds and bunched them up at the head of Athos's mattress. "Here, lean back," he instructed, placing a hand on Athos's shoulder to guide him back against the cushioning. "It's not much but should help a little."

A knock sounded at the door and one of the cadets poked his head in. "Sorry to interrupt," he said nervously. "Constance said to bring you this. She's gone out to find more."

Aramis crossed the room to take the armful of tins and a satchel of what looked like dried herbs from the lad. "Thank you."

He could at least make a tea with some of this to help with the pain, so Aramis set to doing that immediately. He'd just finished steeping the herbs in boiling water when Porthos and d'Artagnan returned.

"You really all right?" Porthos immediately asked, concerned gaze fixed on Athos.

"He'll be feeling that landing for a while," Aramis answered for him, knowing Athos's laconic reply wouldn't be very satisfactory. "But our fearless captain is still stuck with us, I'm afraid."

Athos merely lolled a dry look up at him as Aramis handed him the steaming cup of tea. Aramis did not miss the wince even that small movement elicited.

"Several prisoners are still at large," d'Artagnan spoke up. "The City Guard has been dispatched to search the city, but the further away they get from the Chatelet, the easier it is for them to disappear."

"You three should get back out there," Athos said. "The dragons should be able to help with an aerial search."

"Uh, about that," Porthos interjected. "We were thinkin' there might be more to all this than a simple prison break. I was thinkin' Vrita should join Rhaego and Ayelet at the palace and they should stay there until this whole mess is cleaned up."

Athos's brow furrowed in contemplation, then he nodded. "Alright, then extra help will be needed on the ground."

"Porthos and d'Artagnan can go—" Aramis started.

"You've finished with the medic stuff," Athos interrupted. "There's nothing left to fuss over."

Aramis planted his hands on his hips and huffed in exasperation. Just because the "fussing" was over didn't mean Athos still didn't need someone looking after him.

"That's an order."

The two of them stared each other down for several long moments, with Porthos and d'Artagnan shifting awkwardly a few feet away. Aramis had half a mind to be stubborn just on principle. But the truth was they were just as shorthanded in bodies as they were in supplies, and these escaped prisoners were an urgent matter that needed to be resolved as quickly as possible.

"Fine," he finally conceded. "Finish that tea."

Athos raised the cup a fraction in acknowledgment.

Aramis sighed and turned on his heel to head out with Porthos and d'Artagnan. Hopefully they'd find those escapees soon and they could get home again, before their dear captain decided to be a poor patient and set his recovery back.


	3. Chapter 3

Athos grimaced at the taste of the tea. Not that medicinal brews were palatable in the first place, but he suspected the herbs Aramis had drudged up were somewhat stale. Still, with the amount of throbbing pulsing throughout his entire body, Athos figured he'd need every little bit he could get, so he took a breath and knocked back the last of the tea, wincing as swallowing so much at once made pain flare in his chest. There wasn't an inch of him that didn't hurt. He may have survived that fall without any broken bones, but it sure didn't feel like it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, doubling over with a gasp as every muscle protested. He knew Aramis would be furious with him for trying to get up, but he'd rather convalesce in his own bed and not down in the infirmary. Taking a few moments to breathe through the pain, Athos then slowly rose to his feet and began a stiff shuffle toward the door.

A few cadets were clustered outside, and they immediately snapped to attention at his exit.

"Captain, uh…do you need something?"

"I'll be in my office," he managed to get out through gritted teeth. Though, once the stairs came into view, he did have a moment of doubt regarding this course.

"Athos?"

He blinked, caught off guard by the familiar, lilting voice. He hadn't seen Ninon enter the garrison.

Her eyes were wide as she took in the state of him. "You're hurt!"

"I was pursuing some escaped prisoners," he said by way of explanation. "What are you doing here?" He internally winced at his own brusqueness, more harsh than usual even for him.

Ninon hesitated. "Well, actually, I came because of the prison break. I do not doubt Governor Magnier will use this as another excuse to send his city guards into the refugee camp under the guise of looking for these escaped prisoners. And his men will no doubt seize the opportunity to terrorize innocent people."

Athos frowned. He, unfortunately, wouldn't put that past Magnier and Lahaye either. "You came to ask if the Musketeers could provide a buffer."

Ninon flicked her gaze around the garrison. "I had hoped to call upon you as men of honor, yes. But it seems as though everyone might already have duties elsewhere."

"Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan are out helping to track down the last of the escaped prisoners," Athos confirmed. "And their dragons are currently at the palace."

Ninon nodded in understanding, though her eyes betrayed her worry for the refugees.

Athos swallowed a grimace as he shifted his weight. "I will accompany you back to the camp and make sure that if any city guards do show up, they will not abuse their power."

The lines around Ninon's eyes crinkled. "I appreciate the offer, but you should clearly be resting."

Probably, but Athos didn't care for lying around when there was work to be done.

"I can manage," he said, then whistled sharply to get Savron's attention. Fortunately, at least one dragon was still at the garrison. Actually, on second thought… "You!" Athos called to the group of cadets, wincing again, though this time because he couldn't recall their names. "I want every cadet lined up and ready for duty in five minutes," he ordered.

The three lads quickly scattered to go fetch their fellow recruits.

Savron made his way over and cocked his head curiously at his rider.

"There might be trouble in the refugee camp," Athos explained. "It would reassure Ninon if a Musketeer presence was there."

Savron's expression scrunched up and he made a gurgling noise of protest as he thrust his nose up toward Athos's office.

"I will be accompanying everyone," Athos said pointedly.

Savron snorted in displeasure.

"Athos," Ninon spoke up. "Maybe you should stay. I'm sure Savron's presence and these young men will be enough."

"The cadets have no authority to keep the City Guard in check," he rejoined. "And neither does Savron." He shot his dragon a quelling look to drop the matter.

Savron grumbled low in his throat.

"Go on ahead," Athos told him. "We'll be there as soon as we can."

His dragon made a scoffing sort of sound as he turned and strutted away until he had space to spread his wings and take to the air.

A few minutes later, the cadets had all gathered, armed and ready for duty. Athos realized he didn't know where he'd left his sword, probably the infirmary…which he most decidedly did not want to hobble back to.

"Sir," one of the cadets said, stepping forward and holding out Athos's weapons belt.

Athos was taken aback, but he quickly recovered and gave an acknowledging nod as he took the item and buckled it around his waist. The pistol clipped to the belt bumped painfully against his lower back and he clenched his teeth to keep from making a sound.

"Let's go," he said, turning and heading toward the gate. His movements were stiff and every step made his ribs ache fiercely, but he pressed on determinedly.

It was a long walk to the refugee camp outside the city and Athos was breathing hard and sweating by the time they reached it. There was no sign of any city guards—yet. He spotted Savron circling above.

"Spread out," he ordered the cadets, speaking tersely against the grinding pain in his bones. "Be on guard for anything suspicious."

"Like escaped prisoners?" one of the recruits asked.

"Or an armed troop of city guards heading this way."

The young men gave sharp nods and did as they'd been told. Athos let his mask slip just slightly now that they were gone.

"You shouldn't have come," Ninon chided, taking his arm and steering him toward a stool. "Sit before you collapse."

"You were the one who came looking for help," he ground out gruffly. He sucked in a sharp breath as he gingerly eased himself down and wrapped an arm bracingly across his ribs.

"I didn't know you were injured," she retorted. "If I had, I wouldn't have come at all." She crossed her arms and stormed into her tent.

Athos grimaced at both his manner and the cause of it. "I'm sorry," he said when she came back out. "I am…not fit company at the moment."

She huffed and held out a cup of water for him. He took it with a pained nod of thanks and sipped at the tepid water.

Athos scanned the tents and people milling about. "The refugees in the camp know each other well enough, do they not?" he said. "Their neighbors, at least."

"Yes," Ninon answered, eyeing him speculatively.

"Spread the word to them to be on the lookout for faces that don't belong," he suggested. "It's entirely possible some of the escaped prisoners might seek to disappear among the crowd here."

She straightened. "Do you believe we're in danger from that threat as much as the Guard?"

"I don't know," Athos replied. "All I know is the best way to keep the City Guard out of the camp is to apprehend all the escaped prisoners so they no longer have an excuse to come here."

Hopefully his three brothers were handling that.

.o.0.o.

The raucous clamor of stalls being overturned and people screaming had the musketeers quickening their pace through the streets, and they arrived at the market just in time to find a bunch of escaped prisoners smashing through vendors and snatching food right off the stands. These were the less bright of the crop, their lust for violence stronger than their intelligence to try and evade rearrest.

D'Artagnan drew his sword and vaulted over baskets of spilled tubers at a man bearing down on a pair of terrified women backed into a corner. Unfortunately, the ruffian saw him coming and grabbed one of the women to push into d'Artagnan's path. He staggered and pitched her to the side, letting her fall in a rather ungentlemanly fashion as he tore after the escapee. Porthos and Aramis had also taken off after their targets, who were armed with swords and spun to meet the musketeers head on.

D'Artagnan's quarry barreled around a vendor stall and gave the wooden stand a mighty kick, sending breaking wood and grapes into d'Artagnan's face. The fruit squashed underfoot, and he almost slipped in the squelching juices, which happened to save him from a two-by-four being swung at his head. He regained his footing and thrust his sword out, catching the man under the arm. The scoundrel howled and backpedaled. D'Artagnan charged after him.

A pistol shot cracked the air, but he couldn't afford to turn around and find out who had fired. The man he was chasing pivoted abruptly, and with a raging bellow, ran straight at d'Artagnan. But with deft agility, d'Artagnan spun around him and slashed his sword across the man's back. The cut went deep and the man finally crashed to the ground and didn't get back up.

D'Artagnan quickly scanned the square and watched Porthos cut down another of the escapees. A third was lying in a pool of blood and Aramis had forced the fourth to his knees and was busy grabbing some nearby rope to bind him with.

"That's four more down," d'Artagnan huffed as he cleaned his blade and went to join Porthos.

"Yeah, now jus' three left."

Now that the fighting was over, the citizens were beginning to peek out from their places of cover. D'Artagnan frowned when he spotted Constance among them. Giving Porthos an absent shoulder pat, he quickly made his way over to his wife.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, concerned she'd been out while such heinous men were still at large.

"I was out buying some supplies for the garrison infirmary when I heard some of the escaped prisoners had come this way," she replied. "I was worried about Theresa."

D'Artagnan furrowed his brow and did a quick scan of the area. The woman had been shopping much earlier that day; there was little chance she would have still been in the market.

"Have you caught them all?" Constance asked.

"Not yet. There's still a few left."

Her brow pinched with worry. "Theresa doesn't live far from here. I think I should check on her, just in case."

"I'll come with you," he offered. He turned and caught Porthos's eye, then signaled that he was taking off before following Constance away from the square. Porthos and Aramis would have to wait for the City Guard to come take control of the scene before they could begin searching for the last escapees anyway.

"Here it is," Constance said after a couple of blocks and quickened her pace up to the door. "Theresa?" she called as she rapped on the wood. "It's Constance. Are you all right?"

There was no answer.

Constance threw a worried look at d'Artagnan.

He pursed his lips and looked up and down the street. Well, they _were_ just checking on a blind woman. He moved forward and gently nudged Constance aside so he could grasp the door handle. It turned, so it wasn't locked. D'Artagnan pushed the door open and stepped inside. He saw Theresa sitting at the kitchen table, hands in her lap, and a man standing behind her. D'Artagnan immediately assumed it was her husband, though something about their postures struck him as odd.

"Theresa, it's d'Artagnan. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right." He took a few more steps into the house, only to freeze when the barrel of a pistol was pressed into the back of his head.

"Who are you?" the man holding it snapped.

D'Artagnan slowly raised his hands. "Just a concerned neighbor."

"He's a musketeer!" the man behind Theresa exclaimed. "Look at the shoulder guard."

"You picked the wrong time to be neighborly," the one behind him said.

But before he could squeeze the trigger, he suddenly let out a loud grunt and fell against d'Artagnan's back. D'Artagnan twisted and grabbed his wrist, wresting the pistol away. He caught a brief glimpse of Constance holding a rock as he spun around again and leveled the pistol at the other man.

"Don't," he warned as the varlet made a move toward Theresa.

The man froze and raised his hands in surrender.

D'Artagnan glanced at the one groaning on the floor and delivered an extra kick to make sure he stayed down. Constance then ran past him to grasp Theresa by the arms.

"Are you all right?" she asked urgently.

Theresa gave a shaky nod. "Praise God you came by!"

"I'm glad we did," Constance agreed. "When I heard some of the escaped prisoners were in the area, I was worried. But the Musketeers will have them back in the Chatelet soon."

"Escaped?" Theresa repeated. "No, you don't understand." She grasped frantically at Constance's sleeves. "That job my husband was hired to do, it turned out to be something terrible. Some men wanted him to break into the royal vault to steal the gold reserves. Somehow they knew he was the one who repaired the lock a few years ago. When he tried to back out, they threatened me."

Constance exchanged an alarmed look with d'Artagnan.

"Please," Theresa went on. "You have to save him. He's not a criminal."

"Go get Aramis and Porthos," d'Artagnan told his wife. "And some guards to take these men into custody."

Constance nodded, gave Theresa's hands one more fervent squeeze, then hurried out of the house. D'Artagnan remained where he was, keeping the one thug in his crosshairs and a close eye on the one unconscious at his feet.

Fortunately, it wasn't long before Constance returned with reinforcements.

"What's this about a robbery?" Porthos asked without preamble.

"Good question," d'Artagnan said, jerking his gun pointedly at his captive. "Start talking. Where's Theresa's husband?"

"What do I get if I do?"

"You heard about the food shortage, right?" Porthos replied. "Talk, and you get to not be dragon food."

The man shifted uncertainly at that. It was a bluff the musketeers had used often, but only because it usually worked.

"They were going in through the tunnels beneath the palace."

"Those were stopped up after Rochefort kidnapped the Queen," Porthos rejoined. "No one can jus' waltz in there."

"There's still an entrance through the Chatelet."

D'Artagnan's brows rose sharply. Of course. He'd used that very entrance to rescue Treville from the prison once. And no one had thought to close it up because it was already inside a heavily guarded stronghold.

A stronghold that had just had a major prison break.

D'Artagnan exchanged a look of dawning realization with the others. The whole thing _had_ been engineered as a distraction, just not for what they'd thought it'd be.


	4. Chapter 4

After handing over the two thieves to the City Guard, the musketeers left Constance with Theresa and hurried off to the palace, hoping they weren't too late to stop the robbery. There was no time to get reinforcements from the garrison, not that there was really anyone to call on with most of the dragons already guarding the palace and Athos out of commission. And the cadets weren't exactly ready, either. Besides, according to the man they'd interrogated, there were only four other men involved in this plot, plus Theresa's husband, who was more of a hostage than a co-conspirator. The three musketeers could handle it.

They reached the Louvre and barreled through the halls shouting for someone to get them Lavoie, assuming he was still First Gentleman of the Bedchamber. He was the only one with a key to the royal vault. They stopped at the top of the stairs that led down into the locked chamber, not wanting to alert the thieves to their presence until they had a means of getting through the barred gate. D'Artagnan pivoted back and forth, glancing up and down the halls anxiously in search of Lavoie.

"Yes, what is it?" an irritated, nasally voice asked as the person in question arrived.

"We need the key to the royal vault, now," Aramis said without preamble.

Lavoie sputtered in indignation. "I think not."

"There's a bunch o' thieves down there tryin' to rob the King of his gold," Porthos growled, stepping into the First Gentleman's space. "On yer watch."

The man swallowed hard, his pasty face powdered enough to make him look aghast at the notion. He hastily handed Porthos the key.

The musketeers drew their weapons, poised to make entry, and swept down the stairs. Once they reached the locked gate, d'Artagnan went low while Aramis went high, aiming their pistols for cover fire while Porthos bent to open the lock. The thieves were in the vault, stuffing gold into sacks. A fifth man was pressed against the far wall, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Theresa's husband.

And another of the thieves was…someone d'Artagnan recognized.

"Boudier," he hissed.

Porthos made a small sound of surprise. "That bastard's got his hand in everything," he growled as he refocused on the lock.

Indeed. First stealing gunpowder from the regiment's supply routes, then tracking down a clan of dragons to try to capture and sell, and now here in the bowels of the Louvre? The man sure did get around.

The lock clicked and Porthos pushed the gate open. Unfortunately, it made a high-pitched squeak as it did so, alerting the thieves to their presence.

"Guards!" one of them shouted.

As they dropped their satchels to whip out their pistols and shoot, d'Artagnan and Aramis fired first. One man took a ball straight in the chest while another got hit in the arm. He managed to get a shot off, though his struck the wall and ricocheted off the stone. Porthos charged into the room with his schiavona.

The third man drew his sword to meet the large musketeer head on, while the wounded man snatched up his comrade's unfired pistol and aimed it at Porthos. Aramis pulled his second gun and shot him first.

Porthos and his opponent were taking up most of the space in the cramped vault, forcing d'Artagnan and Aramis to hang back until their friend eventually cut down the robber. By that time, though, there was no sign of Boudier.

D'Artagnan pushed past Porthos to look down the dark shaft. "The only way out of these tunnels is through the Chatelet."

"He'll never make it," Aramis said. "Not with order restored at the prison now that most of the prisoners have been returned."

"Unless," Porthos started, trailing off as he knelt down to pick up a guard helmet from the ground. There were two others as well, one for each of the robbers to disguise themselves as prison guards and walk right through.

"If we hurry, we can still catch him," Aramis said.

Porthos nodded and swiftly straightened, both of them turning to jog back up the stairs and out of the vault. D'Artagnan remained to clean things up and walked over to where the locksmith was cowering on the ground.

"Please!" the man bleated, hands thrown up in surrender. "I'm not with them, I swear!"

D'Artagnan sheathed his sword and held a hand out to him. "You're Theresa's husband?"

He faltered. "Y-yes. My wife, where is she?" he exclaimed in alarm.

"She's safe," d'Artagnan assured him, grasping his hand to help him up. "We know these men coerced you into helping them break in here."

"They threatened my wife," he said shakily.

"Come on, I'll take you home to her."

A cluster of palace guards had gathered in the hallway upstairs, and d'Artagnan instructed them to take care of the bodies in the vault.

"The gold?" Lavoie spluttered at him.

"One of the robbers got away, and I don't know if he had any on him, but most of it's safe," d'Artagnan replied. "And Aramis and Porthos went to intercept him. I'm sure it'll all be returned soon."

That didn't seem to appease the First Gentleman at all, who began bemoaning this terrible tragedy. D'Artagnan ushered Theresa's husband past them all and escorted him from the palace and through Paris back to his home.

The two men who'd been holding the locksmith's wife hostage had long been taken away, and it was just Theresa and Constance sitting in the kitchen with some cups of tea. Constance's eyes lit up when they arrived, though Theresa of course couldn't see that her husband had just walked through the door.

"Theresa!" he exclaimed, rushing to take her in his arms.

She cried out in surprise and delight and clung back fiercely.

Constance stepped away to give them privacy, coming to stand beside d'Artagnan. They both watched the reunion with wide smiles, then interrupted quickly enough to bid the two farewell.

"Thank you," the couple gushed.

D'Artagnan gave a small head bow. "You're welcome."

Constance slipped her arm through his on their way out. "You're a hero."

He tried to hide a smile. "I was just doing my duty."

"That doesn't make it any less heroic."

They were halfway back to the garrison when they crossed paths with Porthos and Aramis.

"Boudier?" d'Artagnan asked.

Porthos scowled. "We were too late; he got away. Again."

"That man is more slippery than an eel," Aramis groused.

"At least you stopped him from robbing the King," Constance put in. "And you saved an innocent man."

True, but the number of times the musketeers had tangled with this malfeasant and he'd slipped through their grasp was starting to become personal.

"We checked with the warden, though," Aramis said. "There's only three escaped prisoners unaccounted for."

Well, that was good news. Now they just needed to track those down and then this could all be over.

.o.0.o.

After a couple of hours at the refugee camp without any incidents, Athos sent two of the cadets back into the city to check with the other musketeers on the progress of the prisoners being rounded up. The sooner that whole fiasco was taken care of, the sooner the camp could rest easy that the City Guard had no cause to harass them. And the sooner Athos could get back to bed, as much as he was loath to admit needing it. But every inch of him was still pulsing with pain, and sitting on that squat stool was not doing him any favors. He tried getting up to stretch, but of course his bruised muscles protested that slight movement as well. Whether sitting still or shuffling stiffly, there was no relief to be found.

Ninon kept watching him, lips pursed into a thin line. He ignored the obvious concern.

"Ninon," a woman called as she made her way over quickly. "Some men are ransacking tents down by the dry creek bed."

"City guards?" Ninon asked in alarm.

"I don't think so. Not in uniform anyway."

Athos hobbled over to them. "How many?"

"Three, I think."

"Which direction?"

The woman pointed back the way she'd come.

"I'll show you," Ninon said, starting forward.

Athos didn't reach out to snag her arm only because his was busy bracing his ribs. "It'd be safer if you stayed here," he warned.

She made a scoffing sound. "For who?" She turned back to the other woman. "Find some of the Musketeer cadets and send them as well."

The woman nodded and hurried off.

Athos gritted his teeth as Ninon went the other direction, forcing him to follow behind. At least she didn't go charging off without him. He drew his sword preemptively, wincing as the motion tugged at his abused ribs.

Women were fleeing the area when they arrived to find three men throwing things out of tents and smashing crates.

"Where can we find horses?" one of them bellowed.

Athos may not have seen the man's face back in that building earlier this morning, but he recognized the brawny bulk. He pulled out his pistol as he stepped into view and pointed it at them.

"Stop right there."

The men stopped their ransacking and exchanged a few looks with each other. The large man smirked as he canted a glance over Athos's shoulder.

"Alone again, eh, musketeer?"

Athos's jaw tightened. "Surrender."

He stepped out to the side. "You can only shoot one of us."

"Then I will make sure it's you."

The man sneered.

"Athos look out!" Ninon shouted.

He whirled as one of the other men made a charge at him with a dagger. Athos swung his pistol and squeezed the trigger, hitting him in the chest. But that was his one shot, and the two remaining escapees knew it. They both surged forward in response.

Athos dropped his spent pistol and swung his sword up, but the abrupt motion made his ribs grind together and stole the breath from his lungs. He forced his arm to move anyway, swiping his blade out. It scored a shallow gash across one man's chest, and he staggered back with a pained cry. The hulking fellow, however, was able to body slam Athos yet again, driving him to the ground. White-hot shock ripped through his entire body and he shook like a gaping fish unable to draw breath. The large man bent down and wrenched the sword from his hand, leering down with minatory delight.

Then there was a battle cry, a most decidedly feminine one. The brutish man grunted and staggered forward, then turned to reveal Ninon holding a crowbar. Her eyes widened when her strike failed to bring him down yet she held her ground as he advanced on her.

Athos's heart lurched into his throat as the thug raised the sword. Ninon threw up the crowbar to block the blow, but the force of the impact knocked her to the ground as well. The brutish prisoner loomed over her and pulled his sword arm back. Athos didn't have the breath to scream.

A dragon did, though. Savron came swooping down out of nowhere with a roar and snatched the ruffian right up in his talons, carrying him off into the sky. Several cadets finally arrived as well and quickly surrounded the last escapee still standing.

Ninon scrambled to her feet and rushed over to Athos, dropping down next to him. "Athos!"

He was still trying to suck precious air into his lungs and couldn't respond.

Ninon's hands fluttered over his face and shoulders.

"Captain!" a cadet yelled as he came sprinting into their midst. "The City Guard are coming! A lot of them."

Athos dropped his head back against the ground and groaned. He needed to get up, but he felt like he'd been thrown out a two-story window again.

"Athos!" another familiar voice shouted, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or bemoan his fortune.

Aramis skidded to his knees on Athos's other side. "What happened?" he demanded of Ninon.

"He tried to fight those men," she answered.

Aramis called him something unfit for womanly ears under his breath, and Athos would have laughed if he'd had the breath yet.

"What on God's good earth did you think you were doing?" the marksman asked scathingly as he began to prod Athos's ribs.

"Coming to—" His chest hitched painfully. "Aid."

"You're a bloody fool."

"It was just- bruises." He bit back another cry as Aramis's fingers roughly poked at his rib cage.

"Well, now you've graduated to actual broken ribs. Congratulations. You'll be laid up even longer now."

"I'm sorry," Ninon said. "I never should have come to the garrison."

"The City Guard," Athos started, remembering the reason he'd come out here in the first place.

"Porthos and d'Artagnan are handling them," Aramis replied tersely. He looked up at something Athos couldn't see from his position. "That's two escaped prisoners here, and it seems Savron has one as well?"

Athos nodded.

"That's the last of them to be apprehended, then."

Athos craned his head to look around and spotted Porthos and d'Artagnan arguing with Captain Lahaye. The man didn't look happy, but after a few moments, he signaled for his men to turn around and head back to the city. They had no cause to stay.

"Honestly, what possessed you?" Aramis went on, most likely to himself since he wasn't bothering to look Athos in the eye as he looked the rest of him over.

"Will he be all right?" Ninon asked worriedly.

Aramis huffed. "Maybe. That depends on whether he's going to continue being an idiot."

"You've made your point," Athos grunted. "I would like to leave now."

Aramis snorted again, then straightened. "D'Artagnan, wave Savron down to the field right here by the creek bed. We're going to need a quick flight back to the garrison."

D'Artagnan flicked a concerned look at Athos before letting out a sharp whistle and hopping the creek bed to get Savron's attention.

"This is going to hurt," Aramis warned as he gripped Athos's shoulders and started to heave him upright.

It did hurt; everything hurt, but he gritted his teeth and swallowed any distressed sounds that might traitorously try to escape. Ninon darted in to help support his weight.

"Thank you," he quietly told her.

"You helped us first," she replied, equally softly. "Thank you."

Aramis wrapped an arm around Athos's waist and helped him hobble out of the camp toward where Savron was waiting.

"How'd you know to come here?" Athos thought to ask between panting breaths.

"We knew there were three men left to round up and got some tips to go on."

"Could've gotten here sooner," Athos grunted.

Aramis just grinned. "Actually, once you're properly rested, we have quite a report to make."

Athos furrowed his brow. Sounded interesting. "I look forward to it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> When a Musketeer cadet accidentally shoots a guardsman during a riot, their captain is out for blood.


End file.
